


Family Ties 'Verse - Continuing Adventures

by Suzie_Shooter



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Broken Bones, Cats, Christmas Fluff, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Love, M/M, Making Love, Minor Angst, Trust
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-15
Updated: 2015-11-15
Packaged: 2018-05-01 18:09:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5215583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Suzie_Shooter/pseuds/Suzie_Shooter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/users/evilmaniclaugh">evilmaniclaugh</a> demanded more from the <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/5132444/chapters/11810276">Family Ties</a> 'verse - this is the series of short domestic snippets that resulted.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In which Porthos discovers Athos doesn't hate all of his customers after all.

They'd been dating officially for a couple of months before Porthos discovered that one of his earliest assumptions about Athos had been wrong. Naturally irascible and with an instinctive dislike of customers, Porthos had imagined Athos would detest children, and resent the ones that ventured into his shop. It turned out, much to his surprise, that this wasn't necessarily the case.

Porthos had formed the habit of going to see Athos in his lunchbreak. Some days he would bring him sandwiches, others Athos would bring a tub of whatever they'd eaten the night before and heat it up in the little pantry kitchen. Porthos had bought him a microwave to replace the free-standing hob, once he'd discovered to his horror that the thick seventies power cable got too hot to touch whenever you turned it on. He'd made Athos throw it away, finally convincing him that a fire would be detrimental to the books, where arguments for Athos' own self-preservation didn't seem to have much effect.

One such lunchtime while Athos was on the phone and Porthos was waiting for the microwave to do its thing, he decided to wander up the stairs. Despite having spent quite a lot of time in the shop over the preceding weeks, he'd never yet explored the first floor, and climbed the creaking steps with interest.

To the left of the stairs at the top was another door marked 'staff only' which opened to his inquisitive touch, and seemed to be a store room, corresponding in layout to the kitchen below. It was full of boxes of books not yet marked up for sale, and piles of ones whose condition clearly made them unsuitable but that Athos hadn't convinced himself to part with.

The rest of the first floor was laid out with bookshelves around the edge and several lower ones in the centre, in front of a big window that let the sun flood in. Browsing the shelves, Porthos discovered to his surprise that nearly all were children's books. There was a faded rug on the floor, a couple of bean bags (one of which Hisspaniola was currently in possession of) and three threadbare bow-legged armchairs that looked like genuine antiques.

Downstairs, Porthos heard the faint ping of the microwave and hurriedly made his way back to dish up.

While they were eating, he remembered his discovery and looked across at Athos with faint amusement.

"That's some kid's section you've got upstairs," he murmured. "I'd have thought you'd rather have them downstairs where you can keep an eye on them."

Athos frowned. "I'm not a babysitter," he protested. "Let them do what they like." He sat back, wiping his bowl with a piece of bread. "Upstairs used to be all storeroom, actually. But there was no door on the stairs, and the first thing every little bastard does as soon as they come in is run upstairs to explore, whether they're supposed to or not. So I thought I might as well put the children's books up there."

"It's nice," Porthos said warmly. "Cosy. Wish I'd had a place like that to come when I was a kid."

Athos shrugged off-handedly. "Not all of them can afford to buy. Some just come in and read in the shop. So I put the chairs in."

"Be a bugger if someone bought the book you were halfway through," Porthos grinned.

Athos muttered something, and Porthos had to ask him to repeat it.

"I said they can leave it at the desk. If they're in the middle of something. I'll hold it back from sale until they're done." Athos got up and started clearing the crockery, and Porthos caught his wrist.

"Why does being caught being nice embarrass you so much?"

"Piss off." Athos dumped the bowls in the sink and turned the tap on, spraying Porthos with water as it caught one of the spoons at an unfortunate angle.

"Urgh! Gerroff!" Porthos danced out the way, and Athos smirked.

"You did that on purpose."

"Prove it."

Porthos came up behind him and slipped his arms round Athos' waist, giving him a firm kiss on the cheek.

"What was that for?" Athos asked, surprised at being kissed in return for a soaking.

"For being secretly lovely?"

Athos glared at him, and Porthos grinned. 

"Don't worry. Your secret's safe with me."

\--


	2. The first time Athos tells Porthos he loves him.

After a while Hisspaniola had adjusted to the fact that Athos was now spending some of his nights in the flat above, and one evening followed him up the stairs. When Porthos opened the door he laughed to find Athos standing there with the ginger cat winding round his ankles.

"I'm afraid I seem to have brought an uninvited guest with me," Athos said apologetically, as the cat took advantage of the open door to wander inside.

"That's okay," Porthos smiled. "He's as welcome as you are." He kissed Athos hello and they watched the cat making a cautious inspection of the flat, belly low to the ground at first as he explored around the furniture but becoming bolder by the second. Eventually after having given everything a good sniff, he jumped up on the sofa and settled down in the precise spot Athos normally occupied.

"Must smell like home," Porthos said. 

"I think you've officially been adopted," Athos nodded solemnly.

Porthos gave him a rueful smile. "About time," he said, then shook his head when Athos looked enquiring. "Never mind."

"Porthos?" Athos slid an arm round him, concerned by Porthos' suddenly rather sad expression. "What is it?" he pressed.

Porthos sighed. "Well, never was adopted, was I? Went to various foster families, but - yeah. I guess nobody ever wanted to keep me." He gave a brittle laugh. "Sorry. Stupid. I'm nearly thirty, it shouldn't matter any more."

"Well I want to keep you," Athos murmured, folding Porthos into his arms. 

"You do?" Porthos asked, smiling at him hopefully.

"Definitely." Athos kissed him lingeringly on the mouth. "I love you," he said quietly.

Porthos stared at him. It hadn't taken him long at all to fall head over heels for Athos, and he'd never been backward in telling him so, but although Athos never seemed to mind these declarations, up to now he'd never said it back. 

While Porthos respected his reticence and had no wish for Athos to say the words if he didn't mean them, inside he'd been scared that Athos didn't feel the same way, and might one day grow tired of dating him.

"Do you mean that?" he asked, a little hoarsely. To his relief and deep joy Athos nodded, cupping his face and stroking a thumb across his cheek. 

"Yes. I know I'm not very good at saying it. But yes. I love you, Porthos. And for the record I want to keep you. Forever."

Porthos broke into a smile, feeling dangerously like he might cry. "I love you too," he managed, and then somehow they were kissing each other in a clumsy, desperate clinch.

Hisspaniola watched them from the sofa, then yawned widely and went to sleep. Home, it seemed, was here as well.

\--


	3. The first time Porthos bottoms.

"So. I was wondering." Porthos murmured it against Athos' neck, nuzzling kisses into the place where soft beard gave way to warm skin. They were lying in his bed, mostly naked and enjoying the slow, teasing build up to sex.

"Mmmn?" Athos shifted a little to look at him enquiringly when Porthos didn't immediately finish his sentence. 

"If you - " Porthos hesitated, plucking up the courage to make the suggestion. "If you fancied switching things up a little?"

"What did you have in mind?" Athos asked, smiling at him. 

"Well, did you - if you wanted, you could - do you want to go on top tonight?" Porthos finally managed in a rush. 

Athos' smile widened, but Porthos looked so nervous he did his best to keep the spark of amusement out of it, and cradled his face gently to kiss him. "You want me to make love to you for a change?"

Porthos nodded. "If you'd like?" It occurred to him that while he'd never offered before, Athos had never asked, and might prefer bottoming anyway.

"I'd love to." Athos kissed him again, and settled against Porthos' chest, looking up at him. "Are you sure though? I kind've got the impression you didn't like to do that."

"It's not that I don't," Porthos admitted. "I just - it needs to be with - well, someone I trust. Not that I didn't trust you before," he added hastily, afraid of causing offence. "Oh God, I'm mucking this up."

"No you're not," Athos reassured him. "I get what you mean. It's fine. And I'm flattered," he added with a smile. "That you trust me now enough to want to."

Porthos gave him a relieved smile. "I do. I've been thinking about it for a while." 

"Can you tell me what you need?" Athos asked, trailing his fingers down Porthos' chest and laying kisses in their wake.

"How'd you mean?"

"Well, do you need me to take it slow? Be extra gentle?" Athos offered, transferring his attention to each of Porthos' nipples in turn and sucking them to hard peaks.

"Nah, I'm fine, I'm not saying I need you to treat me with kid gloves," Porthos said awkwardly, not wanting Athos to think he was a complete wuss, while at the same time thinking that had sounded rather nice, and mentally kicking himself.

"Let me put it another way," Athos amended without missing a beat, working his way down to the waistband of Porthos' boxers and slipping his hand inside. "Maybe need was the wrong word. Tell me what you like."

"I like you."

Athos looked up, hair falling over his face, and smiled. "Good start."

"It's been a while, since I - since I last - you know," Porthos made himself say.

Athos nodded. "We can take all night over it, if you want. There's no rush." He peeled Porthos' boxers right down and slid his mouth over the head of Porthos' cock. 

Porthos groaned with pleasure and let his head fall back into the pillows, some of the tension easing out of him. He'd placed himself in Athos' hands, and was finding to his relief that it felt like a blissfully safe place to be.

True to his word, but at the same time without ever explicitly admitting what he was doing, Athos spent a good couple of hours firstly getting Porthos to relax and then working him up again, this time into a state of tension that was entirely built on arousal and desire. 

By the time they were ready to actually do the deed Porthos was a panting, moaning mess. He'd already come twice, once into Athos' eager mouth and once spilling hotly over Athos' fist as he pumped him to an achingly drawn out climax whilst simultaneously fingering him open, slick and slow and loving.

Through a haze of love and lust Porthos watched Athos rolling on a condom. He felt boneless and floaty, but at the same time he was rock hard for the third time that night and by now wanted nothing more than Athos' cock buried deep inside him.

"I need you," he slurred thickly. Athos looked up with a smile, and Porthos reached out for him. "You asked what I needed. I need you. Fuck me Athos."

"With pleasure." Athos gave a low laugh, crawling over him and taking Porthos into his arms, kissing him again for a long time until Porthos was bucking beneath him, fidgety and impatient.

When Athos finally took him it felt like completion in itself, and Porthos let out a long sigh of contentment. Whilst gentle and considerate to a fault, there was nothing tentative about the way Athos fucked into him, and Porthos felt like stars were exploding through his body. He clung hard to Athos, stroking and kissing and caressing every part of him he could reach, all whilst rocking ecstatically beneath the force of his thrusts.

"Okay?" Athos breathed, gazing down at him with love in his eyes and a smile on his lips. 

Porthos nodded, beyond speech but with a matching expression of adoration, and Athos kissed him on the mouth. "I love you," he whispered, and suddenly Porthos was coming, shuddering from the force of it and feeling like it might never end. In the midst of his orgasm he felt Athos reach his own climax, driving into him one last time, his shoulders shaking under Porthos' hands.

Spent, they lay together and Athos gathered Porthos securely into his arms.

"I love you," Porthos mumbled after a while, waves of sleepiness washing over him. "I wish we'd done that before."

"Plenty of time to do it again," Athos promised, cleaning them both up and settling the covers more snugly round them. 

"Good." Porthos smiled with his eyes closed, and Athos kissed him softly.

"Sleep now," he whispered, but Porthos was already ahead of him.

\--


	4. In which Athos goes for a drink with Aramis and Porthos tries not to tie himself in knots about it.

"Oh, I forgot to say, I'm going out tonight," Athos announced one morning as they were getting ready to leave for work. "I'm having a drink with Aramis."

Porthos, who had a slice of toast hanging out of his mouth and was trying to do up his tie, looked at him in surprise. "You kept that quiet," he said, taking the toast out again and sounding miffed.

Athos looked taken aback. "I didn't realise I had to run all my arrangements past you," he said rather stiffly.

"No - no, of course you don't. I didn't mean that," Porthos stammered. "You just didn't mention it, that's all."

"Well we only arranged it yesterday." Athos took in Porthos' hurt expression and sighed, coming over to do up his tie for him. "It's just a drink," he said. "Do you have a problem with that?"

"No. No of course not." 

"Good." Athos smiled and kissed him firmly. "Then I'll see you tomorrow."

Porthos watched him walk out the door feeling more miserable than ever. Tomorrow. That meant Athos was assuming it would be a late one. He sighed, cross with himself. Athos was allowed to have friends. It didn't mean anything. 

_But he could have taken you along,_ said the voice in his head. _And Aramis is technically his ex. Isn't that weird?_

Porthos wondered if he should have said more, but Athos was prickly in the mornings at the best of times, and he'd probably have accused Porthos of not trusting him. That thought stopped Porthos in his tracks. _Did_ he trust Athos? Yes, he decided, of course he did, and for a while he was happy again, until the little wormlike voice in his head pointed out that on the other hand Athos on a bender was entirely capable of getting so drunk he was arguably no longer responsible for his decisions. The other worry was that Porthos had no idea where Aramis' rather personal brand of ethics drew the line. What if he still had feelings for Athos? 

He spent a fretful day and evening trying not to obsess over what might happen and failing. He hadn't meant to sit up on purpose but was too unsettled to sleep, so when there was a quiet knock on his door at half eleven he was still dressed and sitting in his armchair.

Surprised and suddenly hopeful he went to answer it. He hadn't expected Athos to call in on him after their conversation that morning, and had been determined not to text him or interfere in any other way.

To his relief it _was_ Athos, and not only that but he was standing upright and at first glance at least seemed relatively sober.

"Athos!" Porthos couldn't help it, he enveloped him in a bear hug which Athos suffered with a laugh.

"Hello. I saw your light on when I came back, so I thought I'd drop in. I didn't think you'd still be up."

Porthos was embarrassed, and Athos frowned. "You okay?" he murmured, thinking that Porthos looked unsettled and anxious.

"Yeah. Course I am," Porthos said gruffly. "How was your evening?"

"Good, yeah," Athos nodded. "It was good to catch up."

Porthos nodded too but still looked unhappy, and Athos took hold of his hands. 

"You didn't mind, did you?"

"No. Why would I mind? Don't be stupid."

Athos just looked at him. "You say that, but your eyes are saying something else entirely," he said softly. Porthos groaned, not knowing what to say, but Athos guessed what was on his mind.

"Aramis and I are friends, that's all," he murmured. "We don't work as anything else, we figured that out a long time ago. You don't have to be jealous. I love you Porthos, I don't want anyone else. But I do have my own life, I don't exist just to be your boyfriend."

Porthos felt wretched. "I'm not jealous, I promise," he blurted. "I'm just - scared."

"Scared? Why?" 

"That I'll lose you," Porthos admitted.

"Lose me? You're not going to lose me Porthos, why would you think that?"

"Because I've lost everybody else," Porthos said in a small voice. "That's what happens. I care about someone, and then - they leave, or it all goes wrong."

Athos wrapped him in his arms and held him tight. "I'm not going anywhere," he whispered. "I promise. You're stuck with me." He kissed Porthos on the cheek. "Besides, you're the only person who'll put up with me," he added with a smile. "I'm not letting go of you in a hurry."

Porthos gave a shaky laugh and hugged him back gratefully. "Sorry," he muttered.

"It's okay." Athos smiled at him. "Oh, and by the way, we've had an invitation. From Aramis. He'd like to know if we'll go out to dinner with him and d'Artagnan."

"Who's d'Artagnan?"

"The policeman?" Athos said. "The, er - the one who took you to the station. The one I spoke to outside."

"Aramis is still seeing him?" Porthos asked in surprise.

"Apparently."

Porthos shifted uncomfortably. "Not sure I want to go out to dinner with the guy who wanted to arrest me," he muttered.

"You don't have to," Athos told him. "That was what Aramis wanted to see me about, so I could run it past you before he suggested it to d'Artagnan. He didn't want to put you in an awkward position."

Porthos stared at him, suddenly feeling silly. "That's what you were talking about? Me?"

"Yeah. I'd have asked you along, but all Aramis said was that he wanted a quiet chat. That normally means he's got boyfriend trouble, so I assumed he'd want to keep it one on one."

Porthos cleared his throat. "I've been a twat, haven't I?"

"No." Athos put his arms around him again. "Little sensitive, maybe."

They held each other close, and Porthos sighed. "What do you think I should do? I don't want to upset Aramis."

"That doesn't mean you have to make yourself uncomfortable," Athos pointed out. "But honestly, I think the guy's okay. I've met him a couple of times with Aramis when they've dropped into the shop. And he would be very firmly off duty. Besides, you were never charged with anything, remember?"

"I know." Porthos pursed his lips. "Does he know - you know. Anything?"

"No. Only the official story," Athos said. "Aramis made that clear." He smirked. "The man might be a rake but he's also a very good lawyer. Pillow-talk or not, he's never going to let anything slip he shouldn't."

Porthos nodded, making up his mind. "Okay. I'm up for it, if you are. Double-date it is then. Might be nice."

Athos gave a rueful laugh. "I was rather hoping you'd say no. I hate being sociable."

"Well, serves you right then. You'll have to enjoy it for once."

"Serves me right for what?" Athos asked indignantly. 

"Oh, I don't know. Just generally," Porthos grinned, feeling ridiculously happy again. "Are you staying?" he asked hopefully. "Come to bed."

Athos smiled. "If you insist."

\--


	5. Their first Christmas together.

Arms laden with an eyewatering array of Christmas decorations, Porthos beamed at his long-suffering boyfriend over a store display of greetings cards covered in twinkly lights. "Isn't this great?"

Athos glowered at him. "I feel like I'm going to have a seizure any minute. Can we go to the pub now?"

"Just let me pay for this lot," Porthos said, and Athos grunted and escaped outside to the fresh air. 

The queues were horrendous and it was another twenty minutes before Porthos joined him, full of apologies. He'd fully expected to have to track Athos down in the nearest hostelry, but he was still waiting outside the shop next to a tethered spaniel with a fairly similar expression.

"Now can we go to the pub?" Athos pleaded, and Porthos gave in, feeling he'd pushed his luck about as far as it would go by asking Athos to come shopping with him in the first place.

They settled into a dark corner of The Green Man with matching pints, and Athos sighed with relief. Porthos started looking through his purchases excitedly and tried to drape a strand of tinsel round Athos' neck.

Athos dodged away. "Don't you dare."

"What?" Porthos grinned at him. "I love Christmas. Where's your festive spirit?"

"I don't have one," Athos muttered. "The whole thing's a commercialised travesty and I'm not religious, so there's no point in any of it."

Porthos looked at him mournfully. "You must put a few decorations up though, surely?"

"Why must I?" Athos sipped his pint and shrugged. "I've never bothered, while I've been on my own. Don't see the point."

"Well I like it," Porthos insisted, and Athos gave him an unexpected smile. 

"Good for you. You enjoy it. Just don't expect to convert me," he warned. 

Porthos took a long drink of his beer and settled down in his seat until he could rest his head on Athos' shoulder. "I was hoping you'd cook us Christmas dinner," he said. "But I guess you won't want to if that's how you feel."

Athos looked down at him and relented a bit. "I don't mind doing that," he said. "If you want. It's just another meal."

Porthos beamed. "Will you? Your roasts are amazing."

"I've already said yes, you don't have to butter me up," Athos muttered, but he couldn't help smiling.

"What can I say? Your cooking makes me a happy man," Porthos laughed.

"You'll have to tell me what you want in it. Give me a list," Athos said. "I'll cook it in your flat. Given that I assume you'll be wanting to deck the place with the four bags of hideous tat you've just acquired, and that way it all stays out of mine."

"You'll decorate the shop though won't you?" Porthos asked mischievously. "All the others do."

"No I bloody won't," Athos objected. "And don't go getting any ideas," he added, looking suspiciously at Porthos' grinning face. "Not one piece of tinsel crosses my threshold, understand?"

"Yes Mr Scrooge," Porthos said obediently. "If you're determined not to have any fun, that's your lookout."

\--

Athos was wandering down one of the aisles of the shop scanning the shelves for a book he was fairly sure he had that someone had enquired about, when he stopped dead. Hanging from the back of a large illustrated volume on British Trees was a knitted snowman. He snatched it off with a snort of derision, then, in the manner of one suddenly surrounded by unseen enemies, stared more carefully along the rest of the shelves.

By the time Athos got back to his desk he'd acquired three snowmen, five mini Christmas trees and a handful of plastic candy canes. His arrival at the front of the shop coincided with Porthos coming in the door, and Athos brandished the collected decorations at him indignantly.

"I told you, no Christmas fuckery in the shop!"

"How do you know it was me?" Porthos asked, trying for injured innocence and missing by a mile.

"Firstly? No one else would bother. Secondly, you have the poker face of a five year old." Athos shoved the bundle into Porthos' arms. "Get rid of them."

"Spoilsport." Porthos took them back good-naturedly. "Here, you wanted my list for Christmas dinner." He handed Athos a scribbled list of foods and Athos' eyebrows went up as he read it.

"Jesus, how many people were you thinking of inviting?"

"Nobody?" said Porthos in surprise. "Just us?"

"You could feed the five thousand with this amount."

"Well you've got to have enough left-overs to last you halfway through January," Porthos pointed out. "That's half the fun."

Athos rolled his eyes. "Whatever you say dearest."

"Don't you dearest me," Porthos laughed. "Grumpy sod."

The bell jangled and a woman laden with shopping bags came in. She nodded to them, and then smiled. "Oh thank God, a shop without any dreadful Christmas music, what bliss," she said. "If I hear Cliff Richard one more time today, I'll scream." 

She walked off towards the murder mystery section, and Athos gave Porthos a look of smug enquiry.

"Yeah well I suppose it shouldn't surprise me that your remaining customer base is as miserable as you," Porthos jibed. He kissed Athos on the cheek. "Look, gotta go, I'll see you this evening, yeah?"

\--

Home from work that night and curled up in his favourite place next to Athos on the sofa, Porthos nudged him. "Did you fancy doing the food shopping tonight? We could do a run round the supermarket, be easier if there's two of us?"

"Already done it," said Athos without looking up from his book. "Did it online earlier. Being delivered tomorrow. Good thing we've got two fridges between us, is all I can say."

"Oh." Porthos' reaction was disappointed enough that Athos looked up.

"Now what?"

"Well, if you don't go round the shop you don't see all the extras you haven't thought of," Porthos muttered.

"You mean you don't spend an extra thirty quid you didn't have to on crap you don't need," Athos countered. "But if the Christmas experience for you is shoving your way round a shop filled with screaming children and then queuing for four hours to get out, be my guest. Just don't ask me to come with you, because the answer will be two words ending in off."

Porthos looked mutinous for a minute, then got to his feet. "You know what, fuck it, I am going." He pulled on his leather jacket and wound Athos' scarf around his neck for good measure. "You want anything?"

Athos shook his head. "No thanks. And for the record you're nuts."

"Also for the record, you're a bleeding misery." Porthos dropped a kiss onto the top of Athos' head to show he didn't mean it, and went out.

An hour later he was regretting his decision. The entire town appeared to have had the same idea and his plan for a quick whizz round the aisles to pick up some Christmassy snacks had become a frustrating crawl as he negotiated a packed trolley assault course.

His phone buzzed in his pocket and Porthos assumed Athos wanted to know what was taking him so long, but it was just a cryptic request.

_Get clotted cream._

Porthos wondered what Athos was up to, but duly fought his way up the dairy aisle and snatched the last tub from under the nose of a cross looking man in a business suit. Ignoring the severe tutting he was receiving, Porthos braced himself and headed for the check-outs.

\--

Frazzled and worn out, Porthos finally staggered in the door of Athos' flat almost another hour after that. There was a delicious smell filling the room, and he dropped his bags gratefully, slipping off his jacket.

"How was it?" Athos was in the kitchenette with a tea towel over his shoulder.

"Hell on toast. I hate to admit it, but you were right," Porthos said. "The place was full of toddlers throwing tantrums and someone had passed out in the meat aisle."

"I hope that's not a euphemism," Athos grinned. 

Porthos snorted and wiped a stray smudge of flour from Athos' cheek. "What have you been up to? Smells amazing in here." 

Athos ducked his head self-consciously. "I made you mince pies," he muttered, drawing a second tea towel off a wire rack on the counter. Cooling beneath were an array of beautifully made pies, and the aroma made Porthos' mouth water. He stared at them and then Athos in surprise.

"That's what the cream was for?" He grinned. "You didn't tell me you were going to do this!"

"Wanted to see how they'd come out first," Athos admitted. "Never made them before. Well, not since I was a kid, anyway. I think they're okay. I made the pastry, but I confess the mincemeat is shop-bought."

"I think I can forgive you that," Porthos agreed. "Only a headcase makes their own mincemeat."

"My mother used to," murmured Athos. "Probably still got the recipe knocking around if I cared to look."

This was the first time Athos had ever mentioned anything about his childhood and Porthos was curious to know more, but first he was desperate to try one of the mince pies.

"Can I have one?"

"Course you can. Have as many as you like. Careful though, they're hot!" Athos added urgently, as Porthos shoved one in his mouth.

"It's okay, I've got an asbestos tongue," Porthos said indistinctly, spluttering pastry crumbs and waving a hand in front of his mouth in between panting out the steam. "These are fantastic." He helped himself to another one. Athos tried one as well, levering the top up first to dollop in some of the clotted cream.

"Can we skip dinner and just eat these?" Porthos asked, and Athos laughed. 

"If you want. I'm glad you like them."

"I love them." Porthos gave him a messy kiss. "Does this mean you're coming round to the idea of Christmas?"

"Certainly not," Athos said tartly, then smiled at him. "But I do like cooking, so I figured why not, if it makes you happy?"

\--

"What the fucking hell is that?" 

They were sitting on a wall in the park, and Porthos had fetched them two teas in polystyrene cups. The most alarmingly scented steam was drifting from Porthos' cup, as far as Athos could make out a mixture of pot pourri and old ladies' handbags.

"Christmas spice tea," Porthos said cheerfully. He held out his cup and Athos took a proper sniff, then recoiled. 

"Ugh. And how much extra did that abomination cost you over and above an ordinary tea?"

"60p more," Porthos admitted. "But it's worth it."

"If you say so." About to take the lid off his own cup, Athos froze suspiciously and looked sideways at Porthos.

Porthos laughed. "Don't worry, yours is normal. I haven't got a death wish."

Athos relaxed, and leaned against him. "Thank you."

Porthos slipped an arm round him and smiled.

\--

On Christmas morning Porthos woke up curled round Athos, and lay there happily dozing. They were in Porthos' bed, and judging by the heavy weight by his feet, at some point during the night Hissy had joined them as well. It felt cosy and warm and above all _right_ , and regardless of Athos' anti-Christmas grumbling, Porthos wouldn't have wanted to be with anyone else.

Athos stirred in his arms and rolled over to look up at him. Porthos grinned.

"Happy Christmas."

Athos smiled at him, sleep-soft and amenable. "Merry Christmas." 

Porthos kissed him, fondly at first and then with increasing enthusiasm until he started wondering if it might not be nice to start Christmas off with a fuck. Athos though had other ideas, and after a while wriggled out of Porthos' arms and rummaged around under the bed.

"What are you doing?" Porthos asked in confusion. Athos had his arm down the gap between the bed and the wall, and was trying to pull something up.

"Here." Athos finally succeeded in freeing the bundle he was struggling with and heaved it up on the bed. "Happy Christmas." 

Porthos stared in surprise. It was a stocking, a wide, apparently hand-made thing made from thick red material stitched with silver thread and tinsel around the top. It was lumpy with enticingly wrapped little gifts and for a second Porthos was speechless.

"Shit." Porthos rubbed a hand over his mouth. "I wish you'd told me, I haven't got you one," he said, feeling immediately guilty.

"I don't want one," Athos pointed out. "You're the Christmas fiend, not me." He smirked. "You could bring me a cup of tea though. That would be nice."

Porthos kissed him again, feeling almost shaky with emotion, and went to fetch them both a cup. Tucked back up in bed, he turned his attention to the stocking, pulling each thing out one by one and opening it carefully, while Athos watched with tolerant amusement and sipped his tea.

By the time the stocking was finally upended to shake out the remaining satsuma and handful of walnuts that made Porthos laugh, he had a pile of sweets and little presents, novelty things and games mostly, but also a beautifully wrought art nouveau metal bookmark and an expensive silk tie.

"Thank you," Porthos said sincerely. "For everything, and for doing it. I wasn't expecting that at all."

Athos shrugged. "Thought it might be a nice surprise," he murmured, looking faintly embarrassed. 

"You're lovely." Porthos snuggled back down under the covers with him. "You didn't make that stocking did you? It looks home-made."

Athos snorted. "Do I look like a seamstress? No, I think my grandmother made it actually. It's the one I had as a kid. I found it in the attic. Sorry, it's a bit battered."

"I love it. And I love you." Porthos kissed him. "What was it like here as a child?" he asked after a while. "At Christmas, I mean. I can't get my head round this all being one house."

"We had a huge tree in the entrance hall," Athos mused. "And another one in here. This used to be - well, we called it the parlour, it was the smart sitting room if you like, where guests were taken. It was bigger then, obviously, the partitions that make up your bedroom and bathroom weren't there."

"I'm living in your lounge?" Porthos asked, amused. He'd never really pictured what it had meant, that Athos had divided up his childhood home into flats. How weird it must be for him. "What about your flat?"

"Kitchens," Athos said. "All of the basement floor was kitchens and utility rooms. Dining room was most of the flat across the way from yours. We had a smaller family sitting room on the first floor, and a library and study. Bedrooms were on the second floor." 

"Did you have servants?" Porthos couldn't imagine having to keep a place this size clean, and Athos' family, as far as he could tell, had been just him, his parents and his brother.

"We had a live-in housekeeper, who helped my mum with the cooking and stuff," Athos admitted. "And a lady who came in daily to clean. I liked Christmas," he added. "It was the one day of the year Thomas and I didn't have to make our beds. We'd open our stockings in them first thing, and then when we crawled back in at night they'd still be all cosy and rumpled and full of shreds of wrapping paper." 

"Is there a reason you don't like Christmas now?" Porthos asked carefully. He'd wondered this more than once, whether it was when Athos had lost his brother or something.

Athos shook his head. "Other than the fact I'm a miserable git you mean?" he asked with a smile. "No, nothing dramatic. Just didn't seem any point to it when I was on my own. And a lot of it really does get on my nerves. I don't know, I suppose some of the magic goes when you grow up."

Porthos hugged him. "Wasn't always a lot of magic to it when I was a kid," he admitted. "This, to me, is magic. Being here with you." He thought back to the previous Christmas, when he'd been in the last faltering days of a failing relationship, and the watery turkey dinner he'd eaten alone in the pub round the corner from his flat. His only present last year had been a box of Celebrations from Charon, and even then Charon had eaten most of them.

"I'd better get up," Athos murmured, laughing as Porthos snaked his arms firmly round his waist in protest. "If you want six tonnes of food on your plate in a few hours I need to get the oven on."

"We can have a late lunch," Porthos smirked. "Come here."

\--

Later that afternoon they slumped together on the sofa, full of food and dozing in the winter sunshine pouring through the snowflake stencils Porthos had insisted on spraying on his windows. Athos had objected at the time, but Porthos had said it was okay, he was fucking the landlord, and Athos had unexpectedly giggled so much he'd forgotten he was complaining.

In the corner of the room under the artificial tree, Hisspaniola was fast asleep in a patch of sun, having disembowelled the catnip mouse Porthos had given him in thirty seconds flat and drugged himself somnolent on the contents that were now scattered across the carpet.

Athos and Porthos had exchanged gifts before lunch, mostly books for Athos, Porthos having carefully asked him for a list of what he'd like, knowing that getting a pile of things he didn't really want would just confirm Athos' darkest misgivings about the problems of the season. To Porthos' relief Athos had been happy with everything he'd received, and had given Porthos a veritable mountain of gifts in return, including things Porthos had mentioned in passing months ago and hadn't ever expected Athos to remember.

"Was this okay?" Porthos murmured now, glass of cherry brandy balanced on his stomach and arm pressed against Athos'. "Not too Christmassy-stressy for you?"

Athos, fingers wrapped around a mug of tea and half asleep, looked round at him and smiled. "It was fine," he said. "More than fine. Thank you, for - " he paused, looking for the right word. "Understanding me."

Porthos looked enquiring, and Athos shrugged self-consciously. "Before, people have - tried to force me to join in. Go to pantomimes and wear silly hats and be constantly fucking cheerful. You've just let me be me. So thank you." He rested his head on Porthos' shoulder for a moment. 

"Was it okay for you?" Athos asked after a second. "Was it Christmassy _enough_?"

"Honestly? This was the best Christmas I've ever had," Porthos told him sincerely.

"Me too," Athos murmured. "I might not like Christmas all that much, but I like you. Watching you enjoy it has been the best present of all."

"Soppy bugger." Porthos put an arm round him, feeling like he might burst with happiness. "Why don't we sneak off to bed for a nap before teatime?" 

"Teatime?" Athos laughed. "Jesus I think I might go bang if I eat anything else."

Porthos smirked at him. "Then it sounds like you need to work up an appetite. Come to bed. I've got one last thing for you to unwrap..."

\--


	6. In which Athos manages to fall over the cat and break his ankle.

Afterwards, Porthos blamed himself for it. He'd seen Athos walking up the road after work, Hissy trotting beside him as usual, and popped out of his front door to ask him something as he came in.

Athos, later, told him sternly it hadn't been his fault, and he should stop being silly. That he should have stayed where he was and listened properly, not carried on talking to Porthos as he walked down the stairs towards his flat. Shouldn't have let himself get distracted, should have kept an eye on the cat. Knew perfectly well the little bastard was always under his feet. Should have been holding on to the banister, should have been looking where he was going, not looking back up at Porthos and laughing at something.

It had been his own fault, Athos insisted, no one else's. But the fact remained that when Hissy had dashed between his legs and Athos had missed his footing, for a second Porthos' heart felt like it had stopped entirely. 

Too far away to do anything other than watch in horror, Porthos had seen Athos tumble head first down the remaining steps to hit the concrete floor below with a sickening smack.

He'd raced down after him, terrified of appalling consequences, and been dizzy with relief to find that Athos had already pulled himself up into a sitting position. 

Porthos threw himself down next to him and took him into his arms. For a moment Athos clung to him in shock, still trying to process what had just happened. Porthos could feel his heart thumping wildly and squeezed him tight, murmuring reassurances, for his own benefit as much as anything else.

Hisspaniola was crouched back against the door, ears flat and eyes wide, startled by all the noise and fuss.

"Bloody cat," Porthos growled. "What you want to go and do that for?"

True to his name and responding to Porthos' tone, the cat hissed at him. 

"Don't blame Hissy, it's not his fault," Athos protested, and Porthos turned back to him with a groan.

"You scared the hell out of me. Are you alright?"

Athos wordlessly held up skinned palms, and Porthos caught them in his hands and kissed them. "Anything else?" he asked anxiously, seeing that Athos' face was tight with pain and wondering what he wasn't saying.

"My ankle hurts," Athos admitted. 

"Can you stand?"

Athos shrugged. "Let's find out." With Porthos' help he managed to haul himself upright and tentatively placed his left foot on the floor. As soon as he tried to place his weight on it though he crumpled again with a strangled scream of agony. 

Porthos held onto him fiercely, thinking with a shudder that he never wanted to hear Athos make that noise again as long as he lived. It had been the helpless thin scream of an animal caught in a snare, entirely instinctive and although lasting barely a second had chilled his blood. Athos already looked embarrassed, and cleared his throat. 

"Sorry. Hurts quite a lot if I do that, apparently." 

"Got your door key?" Porthos asked gruffly, focussing on practical things to fight off the thought that he'd quite like to scream himself. 

Athos dug it out of his pocket and Porthos took it from him and unlocked the door before bending down and sweeping Athos up into his arms.

"Not quite what I had in mind by carrying you over the threshold," he murmured, and was gratified when Athos gave a splutter of laughter. Porthos gave him a smacker of a kiss on the lips, and ignoring his protestations carried him into the flat and laid him on the couch.

Porthos knelt on the carpet beside him and took Athos' hand. "Are you okay? Is it broken?"

"Fuck I hope not," Athos said. His face was shiny with sweat, and Porthos wondered how much pain he was in. 

"Tell me what to do." Porthos felt horribly helpless and wished he knew more first aid. 

"You could fetch me a drink?" Athos asked hopefully, and Porthos snorted.

"That wasn't what I meant!"

"Hey, I just fell down the fucking stairs, I deserve a drink."

"Fine." Porthos got to his feet huffing. "What do you want?"

"Whisky. Neat. Lots."

Porthos fetched him a glass, and Athos took a large swallow. "Aren't you having one?" he asked, looking up to where Porthos was hovering indecisively next to him.

"Waiting to see if I need to take you to A&E," Porthos said. "Let me have a look at it."

Carefully he rolled up Athos' trouser leg and examined his ankle. "It's swelling up," he reported. "I really think you've busted it Athos. We need to get you to a hospital."

Athos groaned. "I'm never going to be able to get back up those stairs."

He had a point. Porthos considered the options. "There's a gate at the back of the garden, right? If I brought the car up the alley, reckon you could hobble across the lawn with a bit of help?" 

Athos nodded. "Guess I'll have to, won't I?"

"I could always carry you across?"

"In full view of all the other flats? Fuck off."

Porthos grinned, glad that Athos still had a certain amount of fire in him. "I'll bring the car round." 

Fifteen minutes later Porthos let himself in the front door again, grateful that Athos had given him a key.

Athos looked up from the sofa where Hissy was now curled up on his lap, surprised by the direction Porthos had come from, having expected to see him coming across the garden.

"Bolted from the inside isn't it?" Porthos explained sheepishly. "Had to walk all the way back round again."

Athos winced. "God, sorry, I forgot that."

"Not to worry. You good to go?" Porthos nodded at the cat with a smile. "You made up then?"

Athos stroked Hissy and nodded. "It wasn't his fault. He's always doing that, it was only a matter of time. I should have paid more attention." He coaxed the cat off his lap and swung his legs down to the floor, careful not to put any weight on his left foot. Porthos helped him up again and braced him with a firm arm around his waist.

A thought occurred to him and Porthos looked around. "You got a couple of books we could take or something? We might have to wait for hours."

Athos gave him a lop-sided smile. "Now, it's funny you should ask, because handily I happen to own a bookshop." He selected a book from his to-read pile and scanned the nearest bookcase for something he thought Porthos would like. "Here."

"Night Probe?" Porthos smirked. "Sounds kinky."

Athos snorted. "It's shit, but quite entertaining. I think you'll enjoy it."

"Thank you." Porthos kissed him on the cheek, and slid open the French windows. With some difficulty they managed to make it across the lawn and through the gate, and Porthos lowered Athos into the passenger seat of his car.

"You okay? You look really pale."

"Yeah, well, we can't all have a nice year-round tan like some people."

Porthos laughed. "Shut up you racist." He closed the door carefully and went round to the driver's side. "Let me know if you're going to throw up."

"Trust me, you'll be the first to know." Athos had his eyes screwed tight shut, and his breathing was fast and shallow.

Porthos reached over and squeezed his hand. "It'll be okay," he said quietly. Athos squeezed back gratefully and nodded, but said nothing. Porthos drove.

\--

By the time Athos emerged again from the depths of the casualty department Porthos was almost halfway through his book. He looked up to find Athos coming down the corridor towards him on a pair of crutches, his ankle firmly encased in a plaster cast and hurriedly got to his feet, stuffing the book into his pocket.

"Broken," Athos said sheepishly, in response to Porthos' look. 

"God I'm sorry." 

"I _told_ you, it's not your fault." Athos sounded tired and irritable, and Porthos let it drop. 

"Are you allowed to go home now?" 

Athos nodded, and Porthos breathed a sigh of relief. "Come on then. Let's get you out of here."

Athos was quiet on the ride home, and Porthos kept stealing anxious glances at him until Athos snapped at him to keep his eyes on the road.

"Are you still in pain?" Porthos asked, guessing the source of his bad mood.

"They gave me some painkillers," Athos replied in a monotone.

"I notice you've not actually answered the question."

Athos lifted his hands then let them fall frustratedly into his lap. "Fine, it hurts like fuck, okay? Happy?"

Porthos sighed, wishing there was something he could do. Pulling up outside the house he realised there was another problem.

"You'd better come in with me," he said. "Save you having to negotiate those steps with crutches."

"Whatever," Athos said defeatedly, and Porthos let them in, quietly relieved Athos hadn't put up more of a fight.

He settled Athos on the sofa and after a moment's hesitation sat next to him with a sigh. Porthos knew he should probably fix them something to eat, they'd been hours in the hospital, but he was tired and worried, and nervous that everything he suggested was going to make Athos snap at him.

"I'm sorry," Athos said in a small voice. Porthos looked round at him in surprise.

"Whatever for?"

"Being a scratchy and ungrateful pain in the arse. I don't know what I would have done if you hadn't been there."

Porthos put his arms around Athos and gave him a hug. "It's okay. You're hurting and tired and probably in shock. You're allowed to be grumpy."

Athos relaxed against him with something suspiciously close to a whimper of relief and Porthos rocked him and kissed his hair. "It's okay," he murmured. "You're home now. I'll take care of you."

Athos sighed. "I should warn you I'll be a nightmare to look after," he said. "I don't make a very good patient."

"You mean you have no patience?" Porthos asked with a grin. "Duly noted. Can I get you anything?"

"Would you go and get Hissy?" Athos asked tentatively. "He won't like being on his own."

"Yeah, course." Porthos got up again and smiled at him. "Chin up," he added. "At least it was only your ankle. Could have been your drinking wrist, then where would we be?"

"Wanker," said Athos fondly, and Porthos cackled.

"Exactly, there'd have been none of that either."

He made his way downstairs and let himself back into Athos' flat, where Hissy immediately retreated under the table and refused to come out. No amount of coaxing or threats or shaking of the cat biscuit box would induce him to emerge, and Porthos eventually went back upstairs in defeat.

"Wouldn't come," Porthos announced in disgust, sitting back down next to Athos and displaying a livid scratch on his wrist. 

"He'll be okay," Athos said, leaning over to kiss it better. "Thanks for trying."

"I don't think he's forgiven me for having a go at him earlier," Porthos said gloomily. "That's one cat who knows how to hold a grudge."

"Better check your shoes in the morning for dead mice," Athos agreed. "Or furballs."

"If he throws up in my shoes I'll have his fur balls," Porthos growled. 

\--

An hour later when they'd had something to eat and Athos' painkillers were starting to kick in properly, they were both feeling a bit better. When there was an odd scratching noise Porthos looked up in confusion. 

"What's that noise?"

"Sounds like a cat at the door," Athos said, smirking.

Frowning, Porthos went to open it and Hissy strolled in nonchalantly. Porthos' mouth dropped open.

"Do not tell me that cat has figured out doorknobs."

Athos gave a splutter of laughter. "I leave my kitchen window open," he explained. "That way he can jump up and down from the street and come and go as he pleases. He must have waited outside for someone to open the front door. Who's a clever boy then?" he added, as Hissy jumped up on his lap and started purring.

"Too clever by half, that cat," Porthos said darkly, but he sat back down next to them and was pleased when Hissy consented to have his head scratched.

"How are you feeling?" Porthos asked, putting his arm around Athos' shoulders.

"Bit drunk, to be honest," Athos mused. "I think the good shit's starting to take effect."

"Or it might just be the fucking great whisky you had earlier," Porthos laughed.

"Nah, that was ages ago." Athos leaned against him comfortably. "Can I have another one?"

"Better not, on those painkillers," Porthos said, then laughed when Athos pouted at him. "Don't look at me like that! You drink on top of those horsepills they gave you, it'll be you throwing up on my shoes."

"Fair point," Athos conceded reluctantly. 

"Why don't we go to bed?" Porthos offered. "I'm knackered, and I can only imagine how worn out you must be."

Athos put up a token objection, but given that he had to pause in the middle of it to yawn widely, Porthos ignored it, and helped him into the bedroom.

"Get some rest," he advised, helping Athos get his trousers off over the cast with some difficulty. "D'you want me to take tomorrow off work, and look after you?"

Athos shook his head, lying down gratefully with a sigh, and then struggling to get his shirt off over his head. "I'll probably just sleep," he said. "You carry on."

Porthos leaned over to help Athos with his shirt, then hissed in surprise.

"What?" Athos looked up at him and frowned. "You're not auditioning to be my cat are you?"

"Athos - " Porthos reached out hesitantly, letting his fingers drift ever so lightly over Athos' ribs, which were blossoming with black bruises. "Fuck."

Athos peered down at himself and grunted. "Thought that was sore."

Porthos shook his head. "Why didn't you say?"

"I did. Didn't I?" Athos sighed. "I don't know."

"I thought it was just your foot." Porthos hurriedly pulled his own pyjamas on and helped Athos into a baggy t-shirt. He climbed in next to him and snuggled up. "You okay?"

Athos shuffled closer into his arms and gave a quiet sigh. 

"Am now."

\--

"What the bleeding hell do you think you're doing?"

Porthos had come in the door to the shop to find Athos precariously balanced with one foot on a stepladder and his plastered foot on a chair next to it, his crutch wedged under one arm and a thick book in his other hand that he was trying to wedge into a gap on the top shelf.

Athos looked down at him, guiltily defiant.

"Shelving books," he muttered. "What does it look like?"

"Get your arse down from there this minute." Porthos took the book and the crutch from him and reached up to lift Athos carefully back down to the floor. "Are you trying to give me a heart attack?" he demanded. 

"I was just trying to do my job," Athos objected. 

"Couldn't you have put it lower down?"

"It goes up there," Athos told him stubbornly. Porthos sighed.

Is the world going to stop turning if it doesn't? Or if it absolutely has to, couldn't you have asked me to do it?"

Athos sighed, looking a little shamefaced. "I just hate being hamstrung like this," he admitted. "It's so frustrating."

"Be more frustrating if you do yourself a mischief and take even longer to recover, won't it?" Porthos pointed out. "You've only got another week till the plaster comes off. Just be patient a little longer, can't you? If only for the sake of my nerves."

Athos nodded reluctantly. "Sorry," he muttered. "I'll be good." Porthos gave him a hug. 

"I know it's been hard for you. But not long now, eh?" Porthos tilted Athos' face up and kissed him. This seemed to cheer him up considerably, and they were getting quite into it when the bell over the door rang behind them.

"Oh God, do you have to?" drawled a man's voice in a tone of disgust. "I didn't come in here to see such a revolting display."

Porthos pulled back, considerably embarrassed, but Athos turned to glare at the newcomer. "No? Where do you normally go?" he asked acidly.

The man gave him a look of affront. "You work here don't you? I demand to see the manager."

"I am the manager. Fuck off." 

The man looked like he would have liked to argue but Athos stared him down and he finally gave a click of annoyance and walked out again in a huff.

Porthos gave an awkward laugh. "Amazing you have any customers left at all," he murmured. "Sorry, that was my fault. I should go."

"No it wasn't. Nobody tells me what I can or can't do in my own shop." Athos pulled him back. "Now, where were we?" He kissed Porthos again firmly, and Porthos gathered Athos into his arms with a swell of love for him, that he should be so determined to be proud of what they had.

"Maybe I should come and work for you," Porthos murmured with a smirk. "Be your shelving assistant."

Athos laughed. "We'd kill each other within a week. Besides, you already have a job."

"Not for much longer."

Athos pulled back and looked at him, startled. "What do you mean?"

"Well, my contract comes to an end in a couple of months," Porthos said. "It was only ever for a year. Fixed term, see."

Athos blinked, "Have you really been here a year already?"

"Nearly. Ten months, anyway."

"Can't they keep you on?"

Porthos shook his head. "I was covering someone's maternity leave, and she's coming back to work. There's no post for me. It'll be okay, I'll find something. I've already started looking vaguely, but there's not a lot around at the moment. I can always temp if I have to."

"You are staying?" Athos checked, sounding suddenly unsure of himself as he wondered if Porthos might want to go back to London.

"Of course I'm staying. Assuming you want me to?" It was Porthos' turn to sound nervous. 

"Well of course I do." 

For a second they clung to each other in fierce relief, then laughed quietly.

"That's alright then." Porthos kissed him. "Glad we've got that settled. Look, I really do have to go, I just dropped in to see how you were getting on. I'll see you this evening, yeah?" 

He'd been picking Athos up and driving him home while he couldn't walk it. Hissy, after a few days of deep suspicion and having to be levered into a cat basket, was now entirely content to sit on Athos' lap for the short drive and stare accusingly out the window at passing dogs.

"Yes. Thank you." Athos nodded. "And I promise to stay off the ladder."

"You better bloody had." Porthos hooked him into a headlock and ruffled his hair. "Or I'll spank you."

"Is that supposed to be a deterrent?" Athos called after him, and Porthos was laughing as he walked out the door.

\--

"How's it feel?" Porthos grinned at Athos, who had just emerged from the door of the Fracture Clinic finally minus his cast.

"Weird," Athos admitted. "It feels kind've naked now."

Porthos laughed, and slung an arm round him. "Maybe we should get the rest of you naked as well, so it doesn't feel so strange."

"Can we wait until we're not in a hospital car park?" Athos smiled back at him. "No, it does feel a lot better though. Frankly I can't wait to have a proper shower. And be able to get into my own flat without needing assistance."

Porthos drove them home and followed him downstairs, then once Athos had the door open he bent down and swung him up into his arms with a grin.

"Oi!" Athos laughed. 

"Now I can carry you over the threshold properly," Porthos beamed, doing just that. Athos gave in and wrapped his arms around Porthos' neck, leaning in for a kiss.

"We're not actually married you know," Athos pointed out, as Porthos finally put him down in the kitchen.

"Doesn't matter," Porthos said blithely. "You're mine. That's what counts."

Athos kissed him again, smiling. "We should celebrate."

"Naked celebrate?" Porthos asked hopefully. 

"I was thinking more of a glass of wine," Athos said, and Porthos rolled his eyes. 

"Of course you were. Go on then. If you have enough of them it'll end up at my suggestion anyway."

"What are you implying?" Athos demanded with an indignant laugh.

"I'm not implying anything. I'm saying you're a horny drunk."

Athos folded his arms. "Well it looks like we'll both be out of luck, I seem to be out of wine."

Porthos took a step backwards in mock horror. "You, run out of wine? It's not the apocalypse is it?"

"Piss off. No, I think I put the last of it in that casserole last night. I thought I had another bottle, but apparently I haven't. Don't suppose you fancy running to the shop, do you?"

"Better than that, I've got one upstairs," Porthos said. "You have your shower, and I'll run up and fetch it."

Twenty minutes later Athos was feeling happily and thoroughly clean all over for the first time in six weeks, and wondering where Porthos had got to. He'd just concluded that Porthos must have had to go to the shop after all when he finally came back in, clutching a bottle in one hand and a piece of post in the other.

"What the hell's this?" Porthos demanded, brandishing the letter at Athos and sounding unexpectedly angry.

Athos frowned at him. "Well if you stop waving at me long enough to focus, I might be able to tell you," he snapped back, automatically bristling at Porthos' tone.

"It's from the letting agents," Porthos said tightly. "Informing me that as of next week my rent is being reduced to a nominal fee of one pound a month."

"Oh." Athos' expression cleared and then clouded again in the face of Porthos' apparent problem with this. "Yes. I did ask them to. Isn't - that a good thing though?" 

"Athos - " Porthos stared at him in frustration. "I'll get another job. I'm not a charity case. You don't have to take pity on me like this."

Athos gazed back at him, confused and hurt. "I'm not," he said. "I just - it occurred to me that you're still paying me rent. And it didn't feel right. Not now. So I asked them to change it. That was the simplest way to do it, without making things complicated." He gestured at the letter drooping in Porthos' hand. "I'd have done it before, but I didn't think of it. I don't see all the accounting stuff, so it didn't occur to me until you said about your job."

"But - you rely on the rent as your income," Porthos protested. "This'll mean it goes down by a whole chunk."

"Yours'll go up though," Athos pointed out. "And I spend half my time in your flat now anyway. It seemed only fair. And you'll still have to pay your utility bills and stuff." He dropped his gaze. "I'm sorry. I should have discussed it with you first, but I didn't think you'd mind. I never thought how it might look, to you. I honestly never meant to offend you. I was just doing what I thought was right."

"Oh Athos." Porthos dropped the letter on the counter and came over to take Athos into his arms.

"I'm sorry," Athos repeated, looking up at him sadly, and Porthos shook his head.

"Don't be. Ignore me, I'm a twat. I get too stupidly sensitive about things I shouldn't. It was a lovely thing to do, and I'm very grateful."

Athos shook his head convulsively. "I don't want you to be grateful, that's not why I did it." 

Porthos sighed. "Shall we open the wine and start again?" he suggested softly. Athos nodded tightly, and Porthos hugged him close for a moment. "I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry too. I've screwed this up."

"No you haven't." Porthos kissed him intently until he felt Athos relax again.

When they were both half a glass down and things were looking a little rosier, Porthos smiled as a thought occurred to him.

"You know, you could always let out all eight flats, and we could look for somewhere together?" he ventured.

Athos immediately fell awkwardly quiet though, and Porthos sighed. "No? Don't like that idea. Okay. Moving on."

"I just - I like having my own space," Athos admitted quietly. "I love you Porthos, and I love being with you - but I like knowing there's somewhere I can escape to if I need to be on my own for a bit. I'm not sure I could live with someone full time now, even you. I'm sorry."

"It's okay." Porthos shook his head, and wrapped his arm around Athos' waist. "It was just an idea. I'm not set on it. And you don't have to be sorry, I'd much rather you feel you can be honest."

Athos breathed a sigh of relief. "We're okay as we are, aren't we?" he said tentatively. 

"Course we are. More than okay. I don't care where I live or what we do, as long as I can be with you."

Athos smiled at him. "And I want to be with you," he said softly. "Always."

Porthos smiled back at him, overflowing with happiness, then on impulse swung Athos up into his arms again. "Grab the bottle," he instructed, and Athos did as he was told, laughing.

"Now what are you up to?" he demanded.

Porthos beamed, carrying him at speed towards the bedroom. "Naked celebration, mate. Naked celebration."

\--


End file.
